


christmas tree

by treesramblings



Series: twelve days of stuckony [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Protective Bucky Barnes, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:42:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28316220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treesramblings/pseuds/treesramblings
Summary: The first Christmas after Sarah Rogers dies is… hard.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: twelve days of stuckony [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2073828
Comments: 12
Kudos: 50





	christmas tree

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sapphic_Futurist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphic_Futurist/gifts).



> beta by [my bff temp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tempuwu), who is a star in everything he does.
> 
> this is the first part of a mini-series of twelve short fics, all Christmas or winter related, and this idea was brought to light by the absolutely radiant [sapph](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphic_futurist).
> 
> merry christmas, everyone. I hope it's a good one.

Sarah Rogers dies in October 1936, just a few short months after Steve turns eighteen.

Bucky walks him back to his apartment after the funeral. The Barnes family lives in the nicer apartments across the street, and Bucky tries to convince Steve to stay with them, but Steve just… can’t.

“Thank you, Buck, but I’ll be fine on my own,” he says.

“The thing is… Ya don’t have to,” Bucky responds, leaning forward and clasping Steve’s shoulder. “I’m with ya ‘til the end of the line, pal.”

Steve sighs, smiles, and glances up into Bucky’s blue-grey eyes.

A knock on his door not even fifteen minutes later knocks Steve out of the daze he’d let wash over him. He walks over, expecting to see Bucky, but instead is greeted with the sight of Winifred Barnes.

“Now, young man,” she says, her eyes hard yet gentle, fulfilling the role of a mother so easily. “I will not have you sittin’ in this ol’ apartment to mourn by yourself. You come with me and we’ll figure somethin’ out back at mine. You’re like one of my own, and I ain’t about to let you be alone right now.”

Steve digs his fingernails into his palm, trying to distract himself from the tears threatening to fall.

“Thank you, ma’am, but I… I don’t want to be away yet.” He breathes in, a deep inhale of air, and then forces himself to be vulnerable as he says, “If I’m here, I can still smell her perfume and pretend she’s—she’s—”

“Oh, darlin’ boy,” Winifred sighs. She reaches forward and brings him into a hug, wrapping her arms around his thin frame. “Tell you what. I’m gonna send that son of mine over here. Least with him, you won’t be alone.”

Steve thinks of protesting for all of two seconds before he sags against her, bringing his arms up to wrap about her waist. He’s shaking, but nods his head anyway.

Bucky moves in not even a week later.

* * *

They sort through the house and Sarah’s belongings together. The Rogers family has never been an especially rich one, but his ma always did her best to provide for him. It’s because of this that she doesn’t have a lot of her own things.

While going through her closet, Steve finds a photo of Sarah and Joseph Rogers on their wedding day. He holds it in his hands, taking in each detail as much as he can, and jumps when a tear falls on the glass.

“It’ll be alright, Stevie,” Bucky says.

Going to bed that night is hard, and Steve curls into Bucky’s side—not just for warmth, but for comfort he’s too proud to accept in the daylight. He lets his grief consume him, if only for a little while, and even allows Bucky to help share the burden when he cries himself to sleep.

He doesn’t know how many nights of this occur before Bucky tries something new. He pulls Steve close, crawling on top of his small body, and presses him down into the mattress. Bucky’s frame is so much bigger than Steve’s, on account of him being a boxer, and the weight of him covering Steve so completely helps calm him. Bucky whispers comforting platitudes into his ear, his breath hot on Steve’s neck, and Steve swallows as the tears slowly taper off.

He feels protected. Bucky’s here, and that’s all that Steve needs.

“I’m right here,” Bucky says, “and I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

* * *

October turns to November turns to December. December brings with it cold winds and rain, and all the radios talk about the unusual amount of rainfall the city is experiencing.

Bucky flusters around the apartment as concern for Steve grows within him. Steve is almost constantly sick, trussed up in bed with medical bill after medical bill being thrown his way. He brushes the delirious tears off of Steve’s face. He holds a cold compress to Steve’s head. He piles all the blankets over Steve to try to keep his body warm.

On December twenty-third, Steve sleeps the entire day away, and the rise and fall of his chest is shallow. Bucky knows he needs help. He feels over his head.

He goes across the street and visits his ma.

Winifred takes one look at him and hurries him inside, setting him down at the kitchen table with an almost instant cup of tea. It brings a small smile to Bucky’s face, knowing that some things will never change. Winifred Barnes will always be a proper Southern lady, and a pot of tea must always be ready for any guests that visit.

“Tell me what’s wrong, my love,” she demands, sitting on the adjacent chair with her own cup.

Bucky does, explaining Steve’s constant sickness, and Winifred gasps in dismay. She pats Bucky’s hand. Her entire demeanor is centered around her son’s well-being and happiness, and Bucky’s heart grows warm in his chest.

“Now, I know you’re aware of how your father feels about this whole thing,” she says, and Bucky stamps down the surge of hatred that fills him. George Barnes, may the Devil take him, refuses to support the rest of his family’s decision to help Steve. Bucky has never understood why—but then again, Bucky has never understood anything his father has done.

Winifred eyes him, her gaze sad but firm, and Bucky squeezes her hand. “… But I think I can help at least a little bit. You wait right here and drink the rest of that tea, young man.”

She returns with a five dollar bill, putting her hand up to stop his immediate protest. They sit at the table in silence, and when his tea is finished, she stands up.

She leads him over to the lavish Christmas tree and tells him to snip off one of the lower branches. “One in the back, so it’s less noticeable, now.”

Bucky stands at the door with his eyes trained on the ground, emotions overwhelming him. “Ma, you didn’t have ta—”

Winifred shushes him, reaching up and cupping his cheek in her small hand. “You're my son, James, and I will do anything I possibly can to help you. I love you, my baby boy.”

“ _Ma_ , I’m nineteen. Don’t call me that,” Bucky whines, but Winifred just sends him out the door with a smile.

* * *

Bucky arrives back at the apartment with the tree branch in his arms and the fiver in his pocket. He closes the door with a soft click and places the branch down on the floor in the living room before walking into Steve’s bedroom.

He reapplies the cold compress to Steve’s forehead and sits on the bed, staring at Steve’s pained expression, and Bucky thanks God for both his mother’s help and for giving him the chance to know Steve Rogers.

He places the tree in one of the small cooking pots and wraps some dish towels around the base to keep the branch steady. He ties up the bottom with string to make sure it stays, and then sits back to look around the apartment for decorations.

He doesn’t use anything too heavy. He makes some popcorn and strings it together. He grabs some leftover buttons from Sarah’s sewing set and some random paper clips, threading the buttons through the paper clips and hanging them at random spots. He uses the thread spools as extra decoration, and then throws on some clothespins.

Bucky steps back and feels guilt build inside him at how little he can provide for Steve. He’ll keep trying, though, to help Steve have the best life he can.

He goes into Sarah’s room and grabs the photo of her and Joseph. He picks it up, careful, and brings it out. The tree is placed at the corner of the room, and Bucky leans the photo against the wall next to it.

As a last decoration piece, Bucky finds one of his old black socks and grabs the white thread. He carefully sews a Star of Bethlehem into it, and when he’s finished he places it over the top of the tree.

All he can do now is pray Steve wakes in time for Christmas.

* * *

Late the next day, on Christmas Eve, Steve’s fever breaks.

He wakes up groggy, blinking his eyes blearily, and then takes in the sight of Bucky’s relieved face.

“Don’t scare me like that, punk,” Bucky whispers.

“Jerk,” Steve rasps, and Bucky helps him sit up to drink a glass of water. When he feels like he can talk without ripping apart his throat, he catches Bucky’s eye. “What day’s it?”

“Christmas Eve,” Bucky says. “Don’t think we can make it to Midnight Mass, ‘specially with the way ya look.”

“Shove off it, Barnes,” Steve says, but he knows the twinkle in his eye gives him away by the smile that lights up Bucky’s face.

“Wanna come out into the livin’ room? Got ya somethin’.”

“Aw, Buck,” Steve protests. “Ya know you didn’t have ta. We can’t really afford anything.”

“I didn’t pay for it, punk. Hold your horses.”

“Yeah, alright, alright. Show me what ya got me.”

Bucky helps him out of the bed. Steve wobbles on his feet, and realizes how disgusting he is. “Maybe I should shower first.”

Bucky snorts. “Smell as pretty as a dame ta me.”

He shoves Bucky’s arm and heads into the bathroom. He showers off, the water lukewarm at best by the time he’s finished.

Steve steps out into the living room and walks over to where Bucky is sitting. He stops, his feet dragging on the floor for a half second.

The tree is small. Smaller even than Steve. He looks at the Star of Bethlehem sewn into the sock at the top, at the buttons on the paperclips, at the strings of popcorn and the scattered thread spools spread around the branch, at the clothespins pulling the branches down.

He walks over on autopilot and sits next to Bucky. He stares at the tree, taking in each aspect of it as much as he can, and then his eyes settle on the picture propped against the wall next to it.

His face _crumples_ at the sight of his mother so happy, her smile lighting up the picture and her eyes twinkling with happiness. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Bucky picks him up and settles him on Bucky’s lap.

“Thank you, Bucky. Thank you so much,” Steve gasps, his frame trembling with the tears and emotions escaping him.

Bucky brings one of the blankets he must’ve gotten from the bedroom around Steve’s shoulders. He turns Steve’s face toward his, and Steve barely has a moment to wonder what’s happening before lips are pressed against his cheek.

Bucky kisses away Steve’s tears, his lips unnaturally soft against his skin, and then pulls away with dark eyes. There’s a glimmer of hope in his gaze, and Steve doesn’t even consider why it’s wrong or what anyone else would say about them before he’s tilting his head to meet Bucky’s mouth.

Steve leans against Bucky’s chest, his lips moving against Bucky’s with gentle, sweeping movement. He lets Bucky control the kiss, tilting Steve’s face how he wants, and loses time.

When they part, the air is silent between them. Steve’s chest rises and falls, his breaths heavy, and Bucky smiles is all that Steve can see.

The Church’s clock tower rings out, twelve gongs echoing in the night. Steve brushes his lips against Bucky’s once more, happy, and whispers, “Merry Christmas, Buck.”

Bucky tightens his hold on Steve, his large arms surrounding Steve and leaving him feeling protected, comforted, and _loved_. “Merry Christmas, Stevie.”


End file.
